


got you in my corner

by roguerie



Series: the code we live by [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Bruises, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts, Non-Graphic Violence, Praise Kink, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguerie/pseuds/roguerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys only want love if it's torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got you in my corner

**Author's Note:**

> After much ado, I present the first installment of ~*THE MMA AU*~!! One day [Kate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/basslined) condemned us to rare pair hell with KenTora, and then she came up with this AU and I lost my noodle. This was originally intended to be a short sin fic revolving around Tora and his bruises, but then it completely spiraled out of my control.. ヽ( ﾟヮ・)ノ THANK YOU KATE FOR YOUR UNENDING ENCOURAGEMENT AND FEEDBACK ON THIS FIC, without you it never would have happened. ♥
> 
> Please keep in mind that I am NOT an expert on MMA/fighting sports in general, though I did do a bit of research. I would suggest suspending your disbelief a little (especially with regards to the formation of new bruises) for the duration of this fic!

Kenma is distractingly good looking in the best of circumstances, but today is Bad. 

The gym’s aircon has been broken for a week, which _had been_ fine thanks to the unseasonably mild weather. Today, however, is an unpleasant reminder of the true nature of summer in Tokyo: oppressively humid, uncomfortably sticky, and very, _very_ hot. Tora doesn’t particularly mind it himself, but Kenma isn’t handling the heat well. By mid-morning he already has his sleeves rolled up on his shoulders, putting his slender arms on full display. By lunch, he’s tied his shirt off over his right hip, and a thin strip of skin is visible between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his shorts. Tora’s imagination supplies him with a very elaborate fantasy about what he could get up to with that small patch of skin, and he almost forgets he’s supposed to be spotting for Tanaka until the latter grunts loudly and brings his daydreams crashing down around him.

It’s the best of times, it’s the worst of times. The lack of airflow in the gym is choking his brain. Probably.

Tora tries to focus, he really does. He manages to hold himself more or less together and agrees to a quick spar with Iwaizumi after lunch. Going through the motions of a fight should clear his head, right?

Wrong.

It does work, at first. Iwaizumi is a very capable opponent, quick on his feet and always ready to strike. He’s a challenge even on Tora’s best days, so when Tora lands the first hit he can’t help his gratified crow and accompanying fist pump. His gaze flicks over to Kenma on the sidelines, hoping he’s paying attention and will show Tora that small, secret smile that means he’s pleased with something Tora has done. This is his first mistake.

Tora should (and does, really) know better by now never to take his eyes off Iwaizumi. In the split second it takes for Tora to locate Kenma on the sidelines, he almost catches one of Iwaizumi’s fists on his jaw. He snaps back into focus just in time to dodge it, but he isn’t able to avoid the takedown that follows; his breath leaves him in a short _whumph_ as he hits the mat. He sighs and tries not to think about melting into the floor. 

Iwaizumi’s face appears above him suddenly. He grins down at Tora for just a moment before offering a hand to help him up, which Tora accepts. They get back to it, and Tora tries to shove Kenma to the back of his mind. He and Iwaizumi exchange a few more hits, and then Tora gets him with a kick square in the chest that causes Iwaizumi to cough and stagger backwards. Tora guesses he has a few seconds to look for Kenma again (his second mistake), and when his eyes land on him this time, his brain grinds to a complete and immediate halt.

Kenma is bent over the bench on the sideline, facing away from Tora and ostensibly searching for something on the floor. His shirt has ridden up his back, and his skin is practically glistening under a fine sheen of sweat. If they were alone, Tora wouldn’t even hesitate - he’s lost in a flood of desire, caught in a loop of his hands on Kenma’s body, Kenma’s hands on his, and that secret smile all over again. He really needs to focus, but this is really just too much--

That’s when Iwaizumi’s fist collides with the ribs on the left side of his body, the force behind it enough to lay him out flat. The shock of being brought down so suddenly causes white to flash across Tora’s vision; he closes his eyes against it and brings one hand to his ribs, brushing over them with the lightest touch he can manage. He’s sure a bruise is already forming, though the pain is a distant thing thanks to all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The normal din of the gym has fallen away until all he can hear is the thunderous crashing of his heartbeat. 

Tora dimly registers that several sets of hands are pulling him up and guiding him toward the bench. He allows them to maneuver him into a sitting position, feeling like he’s just been electrified. It’s like he’s in a bubble, time suspended as the world goes on around him.

Kenma’s whispered “ _Tora_ ” is what finally filters through. Kenma is standing between his knees and tipping Tora’s face up with gentle fingers. Tora blinks up at him slowly; Kenma’s face is carefully blank, but his piercing gaze is bright and full of worry. Tora soaks up Kenma’s attention for a moment longer before averting his gaze to the side and glancing around. The other trainees seem to have paused their activities when Tora initially went down but are now back to practicing. Tanaka and Nishinoya are particularly rowdy, currently engaged in a shouting match about what color looks best on Shimizu-san, the gym’s assistant manager. Iwaizumi is hovering off to the side, clearly struggling not to fidget, and Kuroo and Daichi, the gym owners, are standing on either side of Kenma. Daichi busies himself with unpacking his trusty first aid kit while Kuroo merely quirks an eyebrow at Tora. Tora fights down a blush and glares at the floor.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Iwaizumi says. He retains his usual gruff expression, but his worried eyebrows give him away.

“No problem,” Tora wheezes, flapping his free hand through the air in a way that he hopes suggests _this is all a breeze to me_. “It was my fault, anyway. Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

Kuroo snorts somewhere in the background. Tora doesn’t roll his eyes, but let the record show it was considered.

“Let’s see it,” Daichi says. He looks ready to go into full emergency responder mode, so Tora hastily removes his hand from where it’s been covering his side and is met with a chorus of “ _ugh_.” Tora looks down and is entirely unsurprised to see the red bloom of a new bruise where Iwaizumi’s fist made contact. The strike would have hurt no matter what, but he had left his side completely unguarded while he was distracted; even though it barely hurts now, he knows he’ll be suffering soon, by tonight or maybe tomorrow if he’s lucky.

Iwaizumi whistles as he stares at the fresh mark critically.

“Shit,” Tora says, for lack of a better term. He looks up suddenly only to see Kenma’s eyes flash, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing. He hasn’t had a bruise this bad since -

“Ohhh, Tora-chan, you haven’t been this banged up since Mad Dog-chan knocked you out!” 

Oikawa, appearing out of nowhere as usual, beams down at him cheerfully as Tora winces at the memory: the shock, the pain, the months of recovery, Kenma’s perpetually worried eyes... He grumbles noncommittally. Oikawa hums in sympathy before turning to Iwaizumi with a wicked glint in his eye. “How _is_ Mad Dog-chan by the way, Iwa-chan?”

To Tora’s surprise, Iwaizumi flushes a terribly pretty shade of pink and looks away from all of them without a word. To Tora’s further surprise, Oikawa doesn’t press him on it; he just smirks, seemingly satisfied with Iwaizumi’s silent mortification. It kind-of creeps Tora out, if he’s being honest. In his periphery, he can see Kuroo’s eyebrows shoot up higher than usual as Daichi’s eyes go wide, and even Kenma looks a little curious. 

After _The Incident_ , Kuroo and Daichi had offered Kyoutani a place at the gym, which made Kenma so radiantly angry he did not speak to Kuroo for a week. Tora can understand their reasoning though; for all that he lacks in restraint, Kyoutani more than makes up in talent and sheer brute strength. His “rough edges” appeal to Daichi, who likes discipline, and his standoffishness appeals to Kuroo, who likes entertainment. Any fighter would be tempted by an offer to train with _the_ Kuroo Tetsurou, and Kyoutani is no exception. From his first day and every sporadic appearance at training since then, however, it’s been clear to anyone paying attention that Kyoutani only has eyes for Iwaizumi.

That in itself is not shocking. Tora can acknowledge Iwaizumi is exceptionally hot on top of being insanely skilled, even if he isn’t exactly Tora’s type. He _is_ surprised to learn that Iwaizumi would be equally interested in Kyoutani. He can’t think of one time that Iwaizumi has mentioned dating, or a partner, or really anything outside the gym besides his dog and his enthusiasm for kaiju movies.

“Well.” All eyes return to Daichi, who has been poking and prodding at Tora this whole time. “I don’t think your ribs are broken, Yamamoto.” Iwaizumi sighs and sags visibly with relief (for Daichi’s assessment of Tora’s injury or for the change in subject is anyone’s guess). 

Tora nods in agreement. He’s broken ribs before, and it hurt way more than this. Daichi passes him an ice pack, which he accepts and presses gingerly against his new bruise. Kuroo steps around then, gazing down at Tora with his eyebrows still raised.

“Those are the ribs you broke before, right?” he asks quietly. Tora nods. “Take the rest of the day off. Go home, keep ice on it, and then go see Keiji in the morning.” 

Tora’s cheeks heat, and he makes a flustered noise of assent. Akaashi Keiji is the gym’s unofficial physician and longtime friend of Kuroo; Tora has never been able to figure out the exact nature of their relationship, and asking Kenma merely resulted in a shrug. Tora finds Akaashi attractive in the same way that Kenma is (quietly beautiful), and he often leaves Akaashi’s office feeling like he’s made a huge fool of himself… So that’s something to look forward to.

Kuroo turns to Kenma next, but Tora doesn’t hear what he says because his bruise throbs, sudden and painful. He lets his brain go fuzzy and trusts that Kenma will take care of whatever needs to happen before they can go home. His gaze drops to the floor, and he stares at his shoelaces just to have something to concentrate on. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later he hears another quiet “Tora,” and he looks up to find Kenma holding both of their gym bags.

“Let’s go home,” Kenma says, and a cool sense of relief washes over Tora. He nods, rising from the bench and reaching for his bag. Kenma shoots him a look of exasperation and speeds up as he moves toward the exit. Tora can’t do anything but grumble and follow, a bit more slowly thanks to the bloom of pain in his side.

The train ride back to their apartment is quiet and blissfully short. When Kenma unlocks and then opens their door, they’re greeted with a burst of chilly air. Tora must have forgotten to turn their aircon off this morning; normally he would feel bad, but it’s just so _hot_ , and Kenma doesn’t even chastise him as they shuffle over the threshold. 

Their apartment is small and truthfully more than a little messy. They spend so much time at the gym that sometimes it feels like nothing but a crash landing pad, but Tora likes it - it’s theirs. When they first moved in, they had to cram two tiny futons in the bedroom, but now there’s just one moderately sized bed. Just the thought of their bed and its soft blue comforter soothes Tora somewhere deep down. It’s simple, it’s comfortable, and it’s home.

Kenma drops their bags in the hallway and turns to Tora.

“You can go first,” he says, gesturing at the bathroom door.

“Right,” Tora mumbles. He enters the bathroom and immediately sheds his sweat-soaked outfit like an old skin. He turns the water up as hot as it will go (which still isn’t very hot, if he’s being honest) and showers as quickly as he can, trying his best not to touch his ribs. He’s mostly successful, and he leaves the shower in no more or less pain than when he entered. Kenma slips in the bathroom as he’s drying his hair. He regards Tora in the mirror, sweeping his gaze over his torso and lingering on the bruise. He doesn’t say anything, just frowns a little and turns the shower back on. 

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” Tora tells him, exiting the bathroom at Kenma’s soft hum of acknowledgement. He throws on boxers and a clean pair of gym shorts and decides to forego a shirt, since it’ll only rub his already irritated skin. Kenma left a fresh ice pack on their nightstand. He crawls onto their bed and situates himself with his back against the headboard, pressing the ice pack against his side before he closes his eyes and lets his mind go blank once more.

After what feels like hours (but really could be minutes - Tora is keeping time by the pulses of pain in his side), Kenma emerges from the bathroom in sweats and a t-shirt. Tora cracks one eye open to check on him and then settles for listening to Kenma puttering around in their room, moving things here or here. Eventually he feels the bed dip with extra weight, and he opens both eyes to find Kenma kneeling next to him with a considering look on his face.

Kenma moves to straddle Tora’s thighs, and for a moment, they just gaze at each other silently. Then Tora grins at him, open and playful, and Kenma’s mouth twitches with an answering smile. Tora grips the hem of Kenma’s shirt and tugs gently, until Kenma leans forward and kisses him, close-mouthed and chaste. He brushes his fingers along Kenma’s jaw and is nearly overcome with the sense of reverence that gets him every time, from the first day he realized his feelings for Kenma were bigger than friendship to every moment with him since then.

Kenma breaks the kiss and pushes himself back into a sitting position, accidentally making contact with Tora’s bruise. The flash of pain is sudden and intense enough to draw a gasp out of Tora, but it also sends a disconcerting spark of pleasure to his dick. Weird.

Kenma inhales sharply, and when Tora looks up at him, his eyes are narrowed on the angry tract of skin over Tora’s ribs. He fits his hand around the bruise, mapping it almost, and then strokes his fingers across it, touch feather-light. Tora’s muscles tense under his skin, shying away from the contact, and his cock twitches with interest in his boxers. Being the target of Kenma’s laser focus is both intimidating and arousing all at once, but Tora has never minded.

Kenma glances up, and then, with deliberate eye contact, presses his thumb down, digging into the bruise a little with his nail. Tora hisses and arches up into it, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. He’s in heaven, he’s in hell - wherever he is, he’s fine as long as Kenma is sending him there.

A small, satisfied smile flickers across Kenma’s mouth, but it’s gone and his neutral expression is back before Tora can say anything. He rubs his thumb in a tight circle over the bruise; Tora lets his head fall back with a groan, feeling his dick drool pre-come in his briefs. Kenma does it again, and again, until all Tora can feel is the steady pulse of pain in his side and a coiling pleasure in his gut. 

Suddenly, Kenma jabs his pointer finger into the bruise and sits back on Tora’s knees. The sharp bite of pain brings Tora back from wherever he was, and he scowls at Kenma, affronted.

“What was that for?!”

“You worked hard today,” Kenma says quietly, tracing his finger along the edge of angry skin more gently this time. “I’m rewarding you.”

Tora feels himself flush - in what universe is stabbing someone in their fresh bruise a reward? Given the state of his underwear, however, he guesses it’s working for him on some level. Most levels.

Kenma hops off of Tora’s knees to the floor. “Take your clothes off,” he commands, voice expressionless. Tora does as told, pushing down his shorts and briefs in one go and shimmying until he can kick them off. The movement irritates his ribs a bit, but the anticipation of his “reward” suppresses it. The corner of Kenma’s mouth twitches with amusement at his haste to comply.

“Good boy,” he says, and Tora flushes bright red all over, embarrassed and beyond turned on all at once. Kenma crawls between his open knees and settles in. Leaning forward, he presses his mouth against Tora’s bruise at the same time he wraps his fingers around the base of Tora’s cock. Tora grinds his teeth against the embarrassing noise that threatens to escape his throat until it’s more of a groan, and then he lets it go. The bruised skin is still a bit chilly from the ice, but Kenma’s mouth is warm and wet and lovely against him. Kenma moves his hand over his dick slowly, which is fine; Tora knows this is just a prelude to whatever Kenma is planning next. His tongue is insistent, by turns abusing the already-abused skin or laving it gently, and every now and then there’s a flash of teeth. 

When Kenma finally pulls back, Tora’s chest is heaving and tight with expectancy. Kenma runs a finger down Tora’s shaft and then back up, tapping against the head of his cock. Tora’s entire body jolts in response.

“Please,” Tora whispers. He’s never above begging when it comes to Kenma.

Kenma meets his eyes silently, and then his gaze drops to Tora’s groin. He maneuvers himself a little farther down, until he’s all up in Tora’s business, and gives a low hum of appreciation. Tora growls a little, an involuntary response to proof of Kenma’s arousal. Kenma nuzzles his dick and flicks his tongue at the base, and Tora immediately shuts up. 

Kenma is precise in all that he does, and blowjobs are no exception. He licks up the underside, pausing occasionally to press a quick kiss against the velvety skin. He works his way from root to tip and then takes Tora’s length down in one go. Tora can’t help it - he whimpers, eyes glued to where Kenma’s lips are stretched around the base of his cock, and fists his hands in the sheets. The wet sounds of Kenma’s mouth on him and the tiny, barely audible moans are dirty beyond belief, and they drive Tora toward the edge too easily. He can’t come, not yet, not before Kenma is feeling good, too.

Tora brings his right hand up to touch gently at Kenma’s face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Kenma looks up at him then, and for a moment it’s almost too much, Kenma staring up at him while his mouth is full of… _Tora_. Tora makes a noise, strangled and desperate, and Kenma seems to understand; he pulls off, lips shiny and pink, and sits up. Tora grabs his elbow, pulling Kenma against his chest so he can kiss him again. Kenma makes a small noise of surprise but settles in Tora’s lap easily, allowing Tora to lick into his mouth and grind up against him. 

Tora groans at the taste of himself on Kenma’s tongue and the feeling of Kenma’s erection pressing against his stomach. Pushing Kenma’s shirt up, he runs his hands down Kenma’s sides and then grabs at his ass, moving to press open-mouthed kisses along Kenma’s jawline. He starts to knead the still-clothed skin under his fingers, luxuriating in the feeling of Kenma pushing back into his hands as he winds his arms around Tora’s neck. Tora pulls his hands apart to spread his cheeks when he’s brought up short by Kenma’s startled moan. He pulls back to look at Kenma’s face, only to find him blushing brilliantly and avoiding Tora’s eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers, butting his nose against Kenma’s cheekbone. Kenma shifts in his lap and shrugs noncommittally. 

“I already…” Kenma’s voice trails away, leaving Tora feeling even more confused. It must be obvious because Kenma huffs a small sound of frustration before grabbing one of the hands on his ass and guiding it unceremoniously into his sweats. Tora feels his face go hot with the immediate discovery that Kenma has foregone underwear; there’s nothing between his hand and Kenma’s skin. Furthermore, as his hand moves down, his fingers start to glide against something smooth and just a little bit sticky.

“You--” he starts, then shakes himself. “In the shower?” he asks. Kenma nods. “Why?”

“I told you… I’m rewarding you,” Kenma replies, still pink-cheeked but meeting his eyes this time.

Tora groans and lets his head fall forward onto Kenma’s shoulder. He pushes his hand down Kenma’s pants just a little farther so he can rub his forefinger against Kenma’s entrance, finding it slick and soft and _ready_. 

“I wanna be inside you so bad right now,” he whispers, mouthing along Kenma’s collarbone and trying not to come at the thought of Kenma preparing himself in the shower, how his expression would morph as he started feeling good, the small noises he would make as he fucked himself on his fingers… 

“Okay,” Kenma agrees quietly, shivering when Tora presses the pad of his finger more insistently against his hole. Tora extracts his hand from Kenma’s sweatpants, and in a feat of surprising coordination, they manage to push them down far enough for Kenma to squirm the rest of the way out as Tora strips his shirt off. Now that they’re devoid of clothing, Kenma returns to straddling Tora’s lap, knees planted on either side of his hips. 

“Ready?” Kenma asks.

Tora nods tightly, not trusting himself to speak. His throat feels constricted by the crushing pressure of his desire, his need to be close to Kenma. Like always, Kenma understands him; he leans forward and kisses Tora deeply, reaching back to line Tora’s dick up with his body. When he sinks down over him, Tora groans and bites at Kenma’s mouth, willing himself to calm down. Kenma is hot inside, tight and wet and perfect. His head is reeling, dizzy with want as Kenma starts to move, slim thighs tensing as he rises up and then slowly slides back down on Tora’s cock. He can hear the erratic rush of his pulse in his ears, feel it surging against the tender skin over his aching ribs. He’s tempted to anchor himself with Kenma’s body, but he can practically see the marks his fingers will leave on Kenma’s hips, so he balls his fists in the sheets again like a lifeline and tries not to buck up into Kenma’s body.

“Give me your hands,” Kenma says, as if he’s reading Tora’s mind. Tora complies immediately; it doesn’t occur to him to do anything else. Kenma guides them to rest on his hips and gives Tora a look that says “and that’s _that_.” He starts to move again, breath hitching every time his hips come up and the head of Tora’s cock holds him open. It’s slow and torturous, which is probably the point, and gets even worse when Kenma starts to rake his nails over Tora’s chest. Each drag down seems to catch on his nipples, which just sends shock after shock of pleasure through Tora’s stomach. It’s at odds with the leisurely approach Kenma has taken to riding him, and Tora suddenly finds himself quite impatient.

“Fuck, Kenma, come on,” he says, flexing his hands where they’re still resting on Kenma’s hips. Feeling rebellious, he waits until Kenma takes him fully again, then holds him down and grinds his cock up until Kenma is squirming and gasping into his mouth.

“Let me-- up--” he hisses, struggling to get his knees back under him to move again. Tora just can’t do it; he’s in to the hilt, and the way Kenma is squeezing around him is too good, too much. He could probably come just from this. Suddenly curious, he flicks his gaze up to study Kenma’s face. He’s flushed all over, but his cheeks are particularly pink; Tora feels himself blushing in response. Kenma’s biting his bottom lip to keep himself from making noises, clearly struggling against how good he feels. Tora circles his hips a little without pulling out, and Kenma cries out, hips bucking frantically against Tora’s hold as he digs his nails into Tora’s shoulders.

“Could you - like this?” Tora whispers, pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses to Kenma’s throat.

Kenma whines, high and broken, which Tora interprets as _probably, but I will make you regret it_ , so he settles for a quick nip to his jaw as he releases his grasp on Kenma’s hips. Kenma narrows his eyes and shifts a little, probably waiting to see if Tora will hold him down again. He doesn’t, but an even better idea occurs to him abruptly, and he pushes Kenma down on his back on the bed.

Kenma squawks indignantly as they fall together with a soft _whump_. When Tora looks at his face again, his expression is mutinous. Tora presses his lips against the soft spot under Kenma’s ear and then scrapes his teeth there gently.

“Let me take care of you, Kenma.” 

The words seem to quiet him a little, though he still looks suspicious. Sitting back, Tora braces himself on his knees and hauls Kenma’s hips into his lap, the angle deep and so, so good. He groans and bites at the inside of Kenma’s right knee. Kenma reaches up with one hand to grasp the sheets above his head and lets his thighs fall open, honey-colored eyes burning as he stares up at Tora in wordless invitation. Tora settles his hands over the smooth juncture where thigh meets hip and pushes Kenma’s thighs just a little bit wider. Kenma lets him do it, hips quivering a little under his touch. He keeps pressing Kenma’s legs apart as he withdraws slightly, thrusting back in more quickly than he intended. Kenma hiccups a soft moan and pushes down onto Tora’s cock.

“Feels good, Tora,” he murmurs as he skates his free hand down his stomach, dangerously close to his cock. Tora can’t look away. “You feel so good in me.” 

A strange mix of embarrassment and arousal rushes through Tora at Kenma’s words; they’re delivered in his normal voice, quiet and even and just a little bit breathless. His cheeks burn but his cock surges in response, and worst of all, Kenma seems to notice. His eyes glitter when they meet Tora’s, and the corner of his mouth twitches with that small, secret smile Tora loves so much. A wild rush of happiness tears through him at the knowledge that he’s done something right, something to make Kenma feel good. Tora wants to do it _more_ , wants to do whatever it takes to please him.

Kenma bypasses his erection and places his hand on Tora’s abs, which flex in response to his touch. “Keep going,” he whispers, gaze falling to the place where they’re joined. Tora swallows with some difficulty, but he obeys, tightening his fingers around Kenma’s hips. He uses his grip to push and pull Kenma in time with the thrust of his cock in and out of his body, the quick-hot-wet slide of it driving him on relentlessly.

“I like it when you fuck me like that,” Kenma says, words coming faster as his breathing quickens. “Right there,” he adds, grinding down into Tora’s next thrust. Tora’s going to burst into flame at any moment, but he repeats the motion, seeking that place inside Kenma that makes him moan and arch off the bed for more. He pushes into it again and again until they’re both panting with the effort. 

“Good,” Kenma whispers, “please, Tora, you’re doing so good…” He lifts his arms in a wordless plea, and Tora understands; he pitches himself forward, wrapping his arms under and around Kenma and holding him close. Kenma is all frenzied gasps as his hands scramble at Tora’s shoulders, pulling him down until they can’t get any closer. Like this, Tora can’t pull out all the way, so he settles for short, quick slams of his cock into Kenma’s body, trying to find that spot again. He knows he’s hit his mark when Kenma clenches around him and whines, short and breathless.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, words coming out in a desperate rasp. “I want-- to be good for you, Kenma--”

Kenma cries out again and tightens his grip on the back of Tora’s neck. “You’re so good,” he gasps. “So perfect in me, feels so _good_.” He sounds ruined, every quick inhale ending on a choked cry. The praise sends Tora’s head spinning, and the uninhibited whine that drags out of him should be embarrassing - but Kenma said he was _perfect_ , and oh, he wants to be, never wants to be anything else.

“Don’t stop,” Kenma begs, and he sounds so worried that Tora thinks his heart might just explode.

“Fuck, Kenma, I won’t--” 

“I need you--” Kenma gasps, “need you, right there, Tora--” And his whole body bucks up under Tora’s, drawn tight in an insane arch as his cock goes off between their stomachs. They’re pressed so tightly together, bodies slick with sweat, that Tora can feel every sticky pulse as Kenma’s hips continue to spasm and work him down on Tora’s cock. He keeps fucking Kenma through it, to a chorus of “yes” and “Tora” and “ _please_ ,” knowing he’ll be quick to follow.

And that’s when Kenma delivers the killing blow: he slides his hand between them and digs his fingers viciously against Tora’s bruise, whispering against the side of Tora’s face, “Be good and come for me, Taketora.”

Tora is gone, gone, gone, breath knocked out of him like he’s taken a Mad Dog punch straight to the gut. He can’t stop himself from biting down on the spot where Kenma’s neck blends into his shoulder; he registers Kenma’s whine of pain, but he’s too far gone to stop now. Kenma’s fingers are exquisite, terrible daggers in his bruise, and the torturous pressure of them burns through the pleasure of his orgasm until his veins are alight with it. He holds Kenma tight against him, gasping against his throat as he weathers the electric storm within his body. 

When he finally comes down, Kenma has melted into a pile of noodle limbs in his arms, but he’s smiling his secret smile, looking content and thoroughly well-fucked. Tora flashes a grin down at him as he eases himself out and off of his body, trying to avoid the wet spot but still kneeling in it anyway. He’s stupidly pleased with himself, and he feels almost overfull with love and a bone-deep satisfaction.

Naturally, his bruise seizes upon this moment of distraction and takes the opportunity to throb painfully and with a vengeance. Tora grunts and rolls onto his undamaged side, resigning himself to the fact that the rest of his evening won’t be nearly as pleasurable. Kenma’s mouth quirks into a sympathetic frown, but then his expression turns thoughtful.

“I wonder what Akaashi- _sensei_ will say about that,” he says, nodding toward Tora’s bruise (which now has several new, darker spots that look very much like _fingerprints_ ). His voice is expressionless, but his eyes shine with a hint of merriment. Tora’s mouth falls open in shock; he’d completely forgotten about going to see Akaashi tomorrow.

“ _Kenma_!” he says, utterly scandalized by Kenma’s teasing. “Take responsibility!”

Kenma makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle, but it’s here and then gone, only his small smile lingering in its place. 

“Come here, Tora,” he murmurs, opening his arms wide. Tora grumbles a little but wriggles across the bed until he’s fitted against Kenma’s side, head resting comfortably right over Kenma’s heart.

“Good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell about KenTora with me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/wingspike) and/or [tumblr](http://roguerie.tumblr.com)!


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